Authors: Kate Rothwell
Nathaniel had to save him. “You are acting as Miss Cadero’s
en loco parentis
. I understand, and I honor you for it, sir. I’m glad Miss Cadero has such a good friend.”
Wentworth looked less green and almost gratified, but his gaze remained solemn and fixed on Nathaniel. He’d relaxed enough to be able to complete a full thought. “My lord, I am worried because I have seen no token of engagement.”
Token? “A ring,” Nathaniel said. “Blast, yet another thing I’ve forgotten.” He nodded to himself and Wentworth. “I assure you there will be a wedding and soon. And I will be as good a husband as I can be to your friend.”
Mr. Wentworth still looked grave.
“I can’t promise more,” Nathaniel said. “But I can invite you to our wedding. Once we know the details.”
The grey eyes narrowed. “My lord. I’m not so vulgar as to try to foist myself onto your notice after this visit. I know that it would be entirely inappropriate to invite me to your wedding.”
“You might know it, but Miss Cadero doesn’t, and it’s her wedding. Also I expect she will demand that you and your wife come to dinner with us.”
“No.” Mr. Wentworth shook his head, but he smiled at last. “I am greatly relieved, my lord, and I shall not disturb you again.”
“Nonsense. Now you must have a drink.”
Mr. Wentworth had almost relaxed by the time they bid each other goodbye. Nathaniel walked the man to the door himself, insisting he use the front entrance and not the servant’s entrance.
He watched the small grey man scuttle away and understood that calling on Nathaniel had gone against all of his instincts and breeding. Nathaniel could easily have him fired from his job.
A brave man, Mr. Wentworth, and a good friend to Florrie. Now he understood why she worried that Nathaniel might force her to leave her friend, the shopkeeper’s clerk, behind. He’d no more do that than force her to abandon family members.
Family. He sighed and remembered that he had some business with his own.
After lunch, he bought a ring and then paid a visit on Lord Bessette.
As far as Nathaniel knew, his uncle had never resorted to direct action, but more than one of his enemies had met a bad accident or inexplicable fall.
Nathaniel had lived with the threat of violence many years, but he didn’t think his uncle would have him killed. Lady Margaret would not countenance her son’s death, and for some reason, Bessette seemed to care about his sister. Perhaps he didn’t want to shed his own family’s blood.
Yet with Florrie… Well, he did not want to discover how far Bessette would go. Nathaniel’d have to take steps to gain another real hold over his uncle to keep her safe.
He asked Bessette’s servant if he might wait in the office and was ushered into his uncle’s upstairs chambers, the privilege of a family member.
Nathaniel always thought the only evidence that his uncle had a sense of a humor lay in the design of this office—it was furnished almost exactly like a headmaster’s. Spare and chill, with a huge menacing desk and a globe and maps making up the décor. A tiger skin on one wall and an elephant foot waste bin were the only signs of Lord Bessette’s celebrated travels through the Empire.
“It’ll only be a few minutes, my lord,” the servant informed him.
A pity he didn’t have to wait longer. Florrie’s expedition could be cancelled if Nathaniel had enough time to ransack the place.
Before his uncle joined him, Nathaniel went to the window overlooking the rear of the house and lifted the black iron lock.
He left the window and was standing in front of a bookshelf when his uncle appeared in the doorway.
“You nearly missed me,” Lord Bessette said by way of greeting. “I am on my way to Burnham in a couple of hours.”
“Oh? How long will you stay?”
“Just two days. I hope you are here because you realize the wisdom of the plan of Baden Manheim. It offers the best rest cures, and I know your mother is most anxious for your return to equilibrium.”
Nathaniel knew he’d already come a long way in regaining his habitual calm because he could stop himself from shouting and smashing a figurine on the mantel next to the bookshelf. He only bowed in response.
His uncle’s thin face almost looked surprised. The full lips he held in a thin line relaxed slightly. “Do you mean you agree? I’d be delighted to arrange the travel. I have in mind an excellent doctor who could accompany you.”
“No. I don’t agree.”
“Then why are you here?”
I’m here to open your window
. “I came alone because I hope to discover why you do not approve of my bride-to-be and decided to announce it by making a call.”
His uncle didn’t look taken aback, but then he never would. “I merely wanted to see them in their own surroundings.” His mouth was tight again. Nathaniel expected a diatribe about Florrie’s breeding, but instead, Bessette took a different approach. “Your welfare continues to be my concern. Particularly since your stay in Derbyshire seems to have affected your judgment.”
Nathaniel refused to rise to that bait again. His uncle seemed to be running out of threats other than Nate’s alleged madness. Soon he’d return to his standard hints—that Nathaniel’s published work could be called treason, and only Bessette kept the authorities from casting Nathaniel into prison.
Nathaniel wondered if his uncle might be losing his touch.
The man had long ago lost his ability to conjure any feeling stronger than disgust in Nathaniel. He wondered what Bessette might plot against Florrie. Luring her brother into some hare-brained scheme. Having one of his attractive young clerks attempt to seduce her. Or simply creating lies.
If he tried anything against Florrie, Nathaniel would use the weapon of Mrs. MacDonald.
“What did you think of my Florrie?” Nathaniel asked.
“She has a pleasant enough disposition.” Lord Bessette wasn’t stupid and had to know direct criticism from him would only likely make Nathaniel more hostile.
“Yes, very pleasant. We will be married soon.”
We will be married soon.
He felt giddy and suddenly had trouble pulling in enough air.
“Is that all you’ve come to tell me?” Lord Bessette’s brows rose.
“Yes. I expect any other business we have might wait.”
“I have work to do before I leave for the country so you’ll pardon me if I don’t walk out with you.” Lord Bessette gave a tiny nod to the footman who stood in a corner.
“Of course.” Nathaniel bowed again.
The servant, large as a boulder like most of his uncle’s footmen, escorted him to the front door.
Another huge footman stood just inside the passage. Lord Bessette reminded Nathaniel of a description he’d once read of a Chinese war lord. Never at ease or peace even when the fighting had long since ceased.
His four large henchmen would accompany Lord Bessette to Burnham. Nathaniel considered paying off one of the other servants left behind in London so he could just sneak into the house through a door, but he had never learned which of his uncle’s domestic staff were trustworthy—or which weren’t in this case.
He would do it soon. Tonight even.
He thought about leaving Florrie out of it, but knew she’d be outraged, and at any rate, he wanted to see her again. Inviting her to help him seemed the height of recklessness—perhaps her taste for danger was contagious.
A thick yellow fog rolled in as Nathaniel went to fetch her from her boarding house that evening, and he had to concentrate on his driving. The fog wasn’t so thick they had to worry about losing their way, but it would cover their presence lurking at his uncle’s brick terraced house.
They drove without speaking. He was making silent arguments for abandoning this absurd plan. He didn’t speak, in part, because Florrie’s eyes sparkled, and she smiled as she looked out over the chilly streets. He could have sworn he heard her humming.
He left the carriage and horses tied to a hitching post several doors down and guided Florrie to his uncle’s London home. She strolled up and down, examining the front of the house for a few minutes.
“It’s as much of a disappointment as No. 10 Downing Street. Not as big or grand as I’d expected,” Florrie murmured as she eyed it. She was dressed in a bulky grey gown and carrying a small portmanteau. He’d hoped to see her in that first costume. The strange climbing gear.
“It’s surprisingly spacious inside, and he owns the house next door as well. My uncle likes his comfort but dislikes ostentatious displays.”
“But how will we go to the back?” She peered along the row of houses. “Won’t someone notice if we snoop around?”
A carriage clopped by inside the thickening fog. The lights on the vehicle’s sides made thick orange halos in the strange evening gloom.
“Perhaps we should just go up the front,” she said after the carriage passed by.
“No, we’re in the middle of the city. There are pedestrians and carriages. And a bobby comes by regularly on beat.”
She squinted at his uncle’s house. A light gleamed in one of the front windows, and the gas lamp at the door had already been lit, giving a greasy halo in the spreading fog.
“The climb should take less than five minutes. There are lovely drainpipes and windows on this front. The city is noisy enough to hide any little sounds. I can go up the top, over the roof, which looks nearly flat, or close enough, down the back to your open window.” She spoke quickly in a low voice, and he could see her eyes glitter with excitement as she gazed over the building. “You keep watch. Raise an alarm if I’m not back in a half hour.”
“What? No. Listen to me, Florrie,” he began. She was unbuttoning her gown. “What on earth are you—”
In a flash, she’d peeled off her gown and thrust the bundle of cloth into his arms. That was why the gown appeared bulky. It covered her climbing clothes. The sight of her in the knit trousers brought back the strange night together. Some memories of his imprisonment were like wisps of old dreams rather than true memory. Not the time with Florrie. Not when he saw that strange garb again. He gave a croaking laugh.
“Shhh,” she said, and darted forward. He’d been so fascinated by the sight of her in the peculiar trousers, he didn’t even notice that she’d drawn a rope from the bag she’d carried.
Now she sprinted forward, leaving the bag at his feet and the gown over his arm.
She’d never intended for him to climb, despite her long descriptions of what they’d do. She knew he wouldn’t just leave the bag and her clothing lying on the pavement in front of his uncle’s house.
He cursed under his breath, wishing he could bellow at her instead.
He growled again and shoved the gown into the sack, then looked for a spot to stash it. A huge stone urn with a shrub jammed inside would have to do. Perhaps no one would notice the bag.
In the muffled evening, he heard a thumping slithering and saw the rope at the front of his uncle’s building.
She’d already reached the roof. And now was pulling up the rope behind her.
Rage filled him. She was trying to stop him coming after her.
He could run around back, but that was bound to attract the servants’ attention.
Another carriage passed. A man walking a dog passed and eyed him curiously. Nathaniel tipped his hat, picked up the satchel, and went to the front door and knocked. If she wouldn’t let him do the search, the least he could do was stop any servants from exploring strange noises coming from the back of the house.
It was quite a time before Moss answered the door. He looked breathless and surprised.
“Lord Felston,” he said. “Good evening.”
“Good evening, Moss. I know my uncle is out of town. I want to leave him a note.”
The butler hesitated a moment before opening the door and allowing Nathaniel to step into the house.
Nathaniel didn’t hand him his coat or hat. He wasn’t sure where Moss might take them. “Do you mind if I go into the front sitting-room and write my note there?”
“Perhaps your lordship would like me to fetch paper from his office?”
“No, no, I have some with me.”
The butler must have thought this was a strange errand, but Moss showed no sign of surprise as he led Nathaniel to the sitting-room.
Nathaniel fished the stub of a pencil he always carried in his inside jacket pocket.
“Would you care for a cup of tea, my lord?”
“No, I thank you.” He strained his ears but heard nothing. She was good.
He took a calling card from his case and sat down on a chair. The butler remained in polite attendance.
“I imagine you’re short-staffed when Uncle is away.” Nathaniel said as he tapped the calling card on his knee. He wanted to ask how many people lurked around the place but didn’t want to be too obvious.
“Several are taking the day off as per his lordship’s instructions. That is often the case when he is not in town, my lord.” The tiniest reprimand.
Bother. The man wouldn’t give numbers. Nathaniel smiled brightly. “Yes, I know, and I’m sorry to disturb you, but if I don’t attend to this now, I’ll forget.”